


If We Were Vampires

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Pillow Talk, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: “If we were vampires and death was a joke this wouldn’t be so fucking hard.” (A song fic based off of “If We Were Vampires” by Chester See)
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Kudos: 19





	If We Were Vampires

It was late. You weren’t sure what time exactly, but you knew it wouldn’t be too much longer before your alarm went off, pulling you out of the comfort of your bed and to your duties for the day. You hadn’t slept, didn’t want to sleep, and you had somehow managed to avoid it, even though the sound of constant, steady breathing from the man beside you threatened to pull you under, begged you to fall into your own unconscious state.

You just couldn’t.

Not when you knew what that alarm actually meant, what your duties actually entailed. Not with a threat so large, and a plan that was borderline suicidal being the only plan. The only option. One you both had your own respective role in, and one whose odds weren’t exactly favorable.

Not when it could be your last night listening to those deep inhales and slow exhales, watching his chest fall and rise with each breath. Feeling the familiar warmth beside you, a warmth that you hadn’t been able to sleep without since the first time he crawled his way between your sheets.

You didn’t want to.

You wanted to stay awake and memorize each imperfection on his perfect face, let your fingertips trace every dip and curve of his body, every dimple. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him, to love him.

But you also wanted to let him sleep more than anything, knowing how beneficial his rest would prove to be for not only himself, but for his squadron. Sharper, faster reflexes, more clarity. You needed him at his best, not that he wouldn’t give it his all regardless.

Poe never halfassed anything, ever. No matter how tired or dejected or hopeless, he would give any situation his absolute best, and it was one of the things you so greatly admired about him. One of the reasons why you fell in love with him.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that he would let himself be selfish, just this once. Tap into his sense of self preservation instead of trying to play the hero. Do everything in his power to come back to you instead of trying to save everyone else first.

You wished you were a pilot. Just so you could be up in the skies with him, watching his back instead of on the ground, worrying and losing yourself in your own anxiety, not being able to give your own responsibilities your full attention. Not being able to give your own safety your full attention.

You couldn’t really blame Poe for his often reckless behavior, now could you? He was only trying to protect what he loved, same as you. He was only selfless about it rather than selfish.

The mattress shifted suddenly, and you were pulled from your thoughts to see the man in question scooting closer to you, throwing his arm around your waist, his nose almost pressed against yours.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” he mumbled, voice deep and laced with sleep.

“M’sorry.”

You really weren’t. Not at all, not in the least.

Poe only hummed, tangling his legs with yours, his eyes still shut. You hoped he would go back to sleep, but you should have known better. Now that he knew you were up, he wouldn’t fall back asleep himself until making sure you were completely out.

“What’re you thinking about?”

You completely lacked the ability to lie, but you especially could never bring yourself to lie to him, no matter the circumstances. He had a way of always pulling the truth out of you in the end, and you had learned to just be honest from the start.

“You.”

He quirked an eyebrow, peeking the same eye open, his lips turned into something that wasn’t exactly a frown, but wasn’t a smile either. He didn’t need to speak, you knew he was asking for you to elaborate.

“Thinking about how forever still wouldn’t be long enough with you.”

That was definitely a frown, and the sigh he exhaled fanned across your face, warming your cheeks, and you couldn’t even scrunch your nose at his morning breath.

“There’s no reason to be thinking about that right now.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

Both of his eyes were open now, and you wanted to kiss away the furrow between his brows, smooth away the hard lines caused by stress more so than actual aging. He was still so young, you both were, but the war that had become your lives was taxing, and the evidence of it was clear in those premature wrinkles and the scars littering his back, nearly more prominent than the harsh red lines your nails had marked him with the night before.

“I kind of like the idea of not having forever,” he said, his voice low as it effectively pulled you away from your thoughts. “If we had forever, I wouldn’t feel the need to hold your hand all of the damn time.”

With his words, you felt his hand move across the sheets, searching for yours in the dark, intertwining your fingers with his before bringing them up to his lips, kissing each individual knuckle slowly, as if he were savoring the moment. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just as scared as you, but not as willing to show it, or maybe it was more for your benefit rather than his. It didn’t matter.

“Right now, I’d take forever over the possibility that we might only have hours.”

He shook his head, gaze stern, eyes practically begging you to come out of your head. “Or, maybe we’ll get forty years together.”

Always the optimist.

“Still not enough.”

Silence fell over you, for a long moment as all you did was lay there and look at one another, your chest aching and head spinning, his hand in yours the only thing keeping you grounded. Keeping you from running. You wanted to run away with him, somewhere far, far away where you could watch him grow old, watch his hair turn gray. Where you could have kids, and then grandkids, and maybe even great-grandkids if you were so lucky. Somewhere where there was no war, and forever felt like a possibility.

“If we were vampires and death was a joke this wouldn’t be so fucking hard.”

Poe snorted, nuzzling his nose into yours, just once, though the action caused your skin to burn in the most delicious way. He always set your skin, your soul ablaze with the simplest of actions.

His expression suddenly softened considerably though, and you could just make out his tongue darting out between his lips, licking his lower one as his eyebrows furrowed once more.

“I can’t give you forever, but I swear to you, I’m going to give you every second I can find. And I promise we’ll get our forty years. Fifty, sixty. _Our_ forever.”

His promise was nothing short of sincere, and you swallowed the lump that had started to rise in your throat, chest aching in a way that threatened to knock the air straight from your lungs. You wanted to cry. You wanted to cry because you were scared, because you wanted those forty years more than you wanted anything, because you wanted him. You didn’t want to have to spend any amount of time alone, no matter how minuscule. You didn’t want to live in a world without Poe Dameron.

“I really hope I’m not the one left behind.”

 _Stars_ , you couldn’t believe how selfish you were to be saying such a thing out loud, to be telling him that you hoped you died first because you didn’t want to deal with the pain, but it was okay if he did when he had lost so much already.

You watched as he swallowed thickly, shaking his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter who goes first, it’s going to hurt like hell either way. It’ll hurt just as much knowing I’m leaving you behind.”

“But then-”

“I don’t want to talk about this. Not now. I just-” he sighed, shaking his head once again, trying to clear his mind of the images of losing you. “I just really want to hold you and never leave this fucking bed.”

You blinked back the tears you hadn’t noticed where threatening to spill over, scooting closer to the man beside you until your chests were touching, and you could practically feel his heart beating against yours. Beating for you. Making a deeper promise no amount of words could ever hope to convey.

His arms tightened around you, and they would stay that way until morning. Until the dreaded sound of the alarm echoed throughout the room, pulling you away from each other, making both of your hearts stop, but only strengthening that promise.

The morning would turn into the afternoon, and the afternoon into evening, and that night, you wouldn’t find yourself listening to his constant, steady breathing as he lay beside you, but rather his labored, panting moans as he celebrated your victory, your life.

Your promise of forty years, your own forever.


End file.
